The Forgotten War (11 page)

She had forgotten they were not alone and started as some of the sailors applauded her. She turned crimson and assayed a generous bow.

‘Do you know “The Captain’s Sword is Bigger than Mine”,’ called out one voice.

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘You will have to teach me.’

‘By Artorus!’ Marcus muttered. ‘By the time we go back you will be cursing like a tavern wench.’

‘I really hope so,’ she said with an impish smile.

They took a light, simple meal – Cheris hoping she would keep it down this time – and then she retired for the night as the men slept under the stars. Tomorrow would be a day to
remember.

Tomorrow finally arrived, clear and fine. Cheris was awake early enough, though, as she found out when she left the cabin and climbed on to the quarterdeck, not as early as
everybody else. Above her, large pink-tinged clouds sat motionless in a limpid blue sky. The sea was so smooth it looked as if it had been fashioned in glass. There was hardly a breath of air. She
looked at the main mast – a red flag hung limply from its highest point. Marcus, who was on the main deck talking to one of the knights she assumed would be accompanying them, saw her and
strolled nonchalantly up on to the quarterdeck to speak to her.

‘How long has the flag been up?’ she asked before he could get his breath.

‘About half an hour. The men are grumbling because it looks like they will have to row into the harbour. I have just been talking to Sir Dylan, the head of the knights here; he arrived by
boat from the city not ten minutes ago. Normally, we get through the city as quickly as possible and leave within the hour, but it turns out the axle on our wagon is bust and won’t be
repaired for some time. We will be given rooms in the knights’ tower and will leave tomorrow morning.’

‘Really? What will we do in the meantime?’

‘I don’t know. You have your Book of the Magisters to read.’

‘I have spent half my life reading books. Can I not go out for an hour? I could wear a cloak over my robes; I wouldn’t speak to a soul.’

Marcus could not disguise his sarcastic tone. ‘Why don’t you ask Sir Dylan? I am sure he will be very accommodating.’

She was not giving up. ‘I do not see that me, in a cloak, walking up to the market for half an hour is such a terrible, terrible thing.’

Marcus sighed. ‘It is not going to happen, Cheris. The job of the knights is to keep us as well away from the non-gifted as possible; you will have to try to find your parents another
time.’

‘I wasn’t saying that. I know which district they live in but apart from that I wouldn’t know where to start looking for them. Anyway, perhaps this separation of the gifted and
non-gifted isn’t good for either of us. If we met and talked, maybe we could learn from each other; maybe their fear of us might diminish if they could see that we were just as ordinary as
them in all respects bar the one.’

‘Ah, but that “one” is fairly significant, don’t you think? Most people cannot fry you with a lightning bolt if their drink gets spilled.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘I know... Sir Dylan is on his way up.’

The knight Marcus had been talking to was indeed on his way up to see them. Cheris was surprised at how young he was, probably only a few years older than her. He was obviously fastidious about
his appearance, too, with his close-cropped brown hair and recently shaved jaw. His armour had a solid breastplate displaying the emblem of the thorn but apart from that it was all chain. His white
cloak fairly dazzled in the low sun.

‘Hello there, Marcus.’ The young man spoke cheerfully. ‘Have you told the lady about our little problem?’

‘I have indeed, Sir Dylan, but allow me to introduce you both. This lady is Cheris Menthur, recent graduate of the College of Magisters and its most promising student for many years.
Cheris, meet Sir Dylan of Mettenheath, knight prefect of the Holy Thorn.’

Dylan gave a small bow. ‘The pleasure truly is all mine.’

She spoke carefully, in well-modulated tones. ‘You are very kind, sir. May I be so bold as to enquire as to what arrangements will be made for us prior to our departure from the
city?’

“We have several guestrooms in the knights’ tower where you can be accommodated, I have assurances that we will be able to leave early on the morrow.’

‘Then would I have permission to disguise myself for an hour and stroll around the city?’

Dylan looked askance. Marcus smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly.

‘Why, by all the Gods, would you want to do that?’

She gave her sweetest smile – strong men had been known to crumble under the force of it. ‘Come, sir, I have spent over fifteen years of my life on an island whose perimeter you
could walk in under an hour – no streets, no marketplace, no taverns, just a lifetime of studious austerity backed by the cries of a thousand gulls. I would say nothing, do nothing but
observe; I would truly be the epitome of meekness.’

Sir Dylan looked troubled. ‘As you can see, Sir Dylan,’ Marcus interjected, ‘all our time in isolation can change a person. Cheris is not the sort of woman you encounter very
often on the mainland – educated, bold and outspoken. She is completely unaware of this herself, of course; she imagines all women to be as she is and not consumed all hours of the day with
putting bread on the table for her and her family so she can avoid a beating from a drunken husband. She has much to learn about life outside our own cosseted environment.’

Cheris glared at him. ‘That may be the case, but surely the best way for me to learn would be for me to actually mix with the women of whom you speak so disparagingly, however restricted
the circumstances.’

Sir Dylan realised he was staring at her and turned away, looking at the sea as though jumping into it would be preferable to conversing with the two mages. ‘No one has ever made such a
request before. I am answerable to a chain of command and I doubt very much that they would approve. Bear in mind that the normal procedure is to forewarn people of your arrival, so that they may
clear the streets should they so choose.’

Cheris was like a dog with a bone. Marcus looked ruefully at the skies – how many times had he seen her like this, especially when she felt she had a point to make?

‘Surely,’ she said, ‘the procedure is to make people aware that mages will shortly be walking the streets and, as you say, give them the choice on how to react. Now, if I were
to arrive at your tower and to leave again immediately, then anyone still around must be aware of the possibility that a mage could still be in the vicinity. I tell you what: why don’t you
accompany me? I would speak to you and only you and be utterly subservient to your demands.’

He stuttered. ‘No, my Lady, no. You are persuasive but no, it would not be appropriate.’

Cheris’s eyes shone. ‘We are some half an hour from the shore, before our ship docks, yes?’

‘Longer! They will have to row; there is no wind.’

‘Excellent! Then that gives me plenty more time to work on you.’

Marcus looked at her animated face and that of the blushing, stumbling knight and realised that he had never felt more sorry for anyone in his life.

The sailors finally secured the ship in the harbour after an hour’s hard rowing. The gang plank was put down and a couple of knights helped to carry the mages gear on to land. Cheris
thanked a couple of sailors for their help, including the young lad who had spoken to her the night before, stepped lightly on to the gangplank and then on to the jetty. Thereafter it was up a
flight of stone steps to get on to the harbour wall proper. Marcus was labouring up the steps behind her. She waited patiently for him flanked by two knights. In her bright-red robes she realised
that she would stand out like a beacon.

‘Do you want to lean on your staff, get your breath back after those horrible steps?’ she said playfully when he was finally standing next to her.

‘I can tell,’ he said slowly, ‘that today you are feeling a lot better.’

They started a slow walk along the harbour wall, behind Sir Dylan and the knights, who were pulling their gear which had been loaded on to a small handcart. Ahead of them, past the statue of
Hytha, the harbour wall ended in a flight of steps which then opened on to a large flat area paved in stone that nestled between a shingle beach dotted with small fishing craft and a line of low
tiny cottages – some whitewashed and salubrious; others looking far less favourable. This flat area was where the sailors worked at their nets, except in the mornings when the trestle tables
would come out and the fish market was held. Between two of the cottages, some two-thirds of the way along the beach, was a cobbled street, Voyagers’ Street, the main artery traversing
Voyagers’ Hill, cutting through it until it joined the larger People’s Hill, where it took the name, unsurprisingly, of People’s Street. It was towards this street that the
knights now headed.

To Cheris’s surprise, the area was not fully deserted. After Marcus’s dire warnings of the terror the mages provoked among the common folk, she had expected to see no one at all, but
there were clusters of people, keeping a respectful distance, regarding them with what appeared to be only barely engaged curiosity. Some fishermen were still working on their boats, apparently
oblivious to the strange procession close by them.

‘Marcus,’ she said, ‘these people aren’t bothered by us at all.’

‘It looks that way,’ he replied. ‘But actually the harbour front should be teeming with people right now. We are holding up the fish market, you see; these people are waiting
for us to disappear up Voyagers’ Street so they can start to set up their wares.’

‘So we are stopping these people making their money.’

‘Yes.’

She swallowed, feeling guilty, seeing accusation in every local’s glance. Fortunately, though, they soon reached Voyagers’ Street and turned into it. Cheris’s relief that they
were no longer holding up the business of the day was immediately replaced by one of horror.

‘By Lucan, the smell!’

Within a few steps it was like plunging into another world. The street with its smooth uneven cobbles was hemmed in on both sides by dark two-storey buildings that extended outward and above
her, cutting out the light. It was almost possible, she reckoned, for neighbours across the street from each other to reach out and shake hands through the small, upper windows. Rank straw was
scattered over the cobbles, and on either side of the road was a small trench that served as an open sewer, the source of the odour that so offended Cheris.

‘It is a shock, the first time, isn’t it?’ said Marcus. ‘A lifetime on an island with the sea filling your nostrils ill prepares you for this. Tanaren City actually has
an army of night-soil men who work like beavers until dawn, but they concentrate their efforts in the better-off areas; somewhere like this might see them once a month. A few weeks back in high
summer it would have been a lot worse.’

They continued onwards up the hill. Most of the hills in the city sloped gently upwards, the exceptions being Loubian Hill, with its palaces on the crest, St Kennelth’s where the Great
Cathedral was located, and the western fringe of the Artisans’ Hill where it met the city wall, so progress wasn’t too difficult for them. Now and then they would pass a side street,
which was always narrower, even more ramshackle and ill-favoured and piled even higher with filth than the one they were proceeding along. Here they did meet no one, apart from the odd skinny feral
dog cocking its leg against a wall, or a comatose drunk slumped in a doorway. However, behind these doors as they passed there were sounds – a crying child, a drunken argument, even some wild
laughter – but nobody dared come out to face them.

Eventually they reached the top of the hill. Here they emerged into the light again, out into a small square in the centre of which was a statue of a man holding a book and a sword – the
usual symbols, Cheris found out later, of the office of Grand Duke. Under the statue was a small tired-looking fountain opening out into a stone basin some ten feet across. The road continued
downhill on the other side of the square, but it was not there that the knights now headed. Rather, they turned eastward to their right, towards a narrow street that also headed downhill. This
street was a lot cleaner, brighter and better maintained. Along its length Cheris spotted a couple of bright tavern signs and some shops selling wickerwork and the like. There were even a few
people in the street; some did disappear down side streets when they spotted the red robes, but there were others who blithely carried on with their own business. One, a large wealthily-dressed man
in a red velvet tunic, even walked straight past them while wishing them a good morrow. He seemed to look at her with open admiration. Cheris smiled back at him – being so frankly appreciated
by others made her pleased about what she had done to her robe. It was tucked tightly in at the waist, and the lacing at the front was tight enough to emphasise her figure; it wasn’t too
long, either, which was the curse of most feminine robes. In fact, at a distance she was sure it would pass as an evening dress.

‘Can you spare a penny, my Lady?’

The child’s voice cut into her thoughts. She stopped and looked to her right. A side street cut into the road they were on – it had the dark look and evil smell of the ones they had
passed earlier. Sitting on the ground at the junction of both streets was a little girl of maybe six or seven. Her brown dress was dirty and ragged, probably riddled with lice; her bare feet were
covered in filth and she had the large sunken eyes of someone constantly battling malnutrition. Instinctively, Cheris reached into the purse but as she did so one of the knights stepped in front of
her.

‘Sorry, my Lady, but you are not allowed to do that.’

She coloured. ‘By all the Gods, why not?’

‘People will think the money is magical. If the child dies, we will be blamed for it. It’s not worth the trouble.’

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders and moved off, though slowly, letting the others get ahead of her. When no one was looking she turned to look at
the child again, and, catching her eye, she surreptitiously let a penny fall on to the cobbles. No one heard it. A couple of minutes later she looked back again to see the child running off into
the side street, clutching a bright penny in her hand.